


Enemies In Love

by 1adyDebonair



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: #FrUk, #arthur kirkland tries to not fall under francis's spell and fails every time tbh, #francis bonnefoy is a smooth mf, #gay af, #gay babies, #genderbend! au, #hetalia, #lots of fluffy elements, #many many many oneshots, #mostly fluff, #slice of life, #so many aus fuck, #vampire aus, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6840142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1adyDebonair/pseuds/1adyDebonair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A varied collection of FrUk oneshots! </p><p>"Francis." Arthur murmured, entangled in his lover's embrace.</p><p>"Oui?" The Frenchman whispered sleepily. He soothingly stroked the Brit's unruly hair.</p><p>"I love you, you know." </p><p>Francis smiled at the hardly audible words. Those three words meant more to him than anything else.</p><p>"Je t'aime aussi, Angleterre. Until the end of time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Click

"Francis~" Arthur singsonged, playing with his lover's hair.

"Arthur~" Francis replied in the same tune, slightly muffled by the pillows that lay around him.

"Are you going to get up?"

"Mm. Non."

The Brit pouted, his fingers dancing along Francis's spine. The Frenchman shivered lightly, hi breathing becoming rthymic and slow.

"Wait, don't go to sleep yet!" Arthur fretted, slapping Francis's back. Francis winced,turning his head in Arthur's direction.

"If this is about me getting up to press play for your movie, my answer is no."

"No, this is about me wanting a kiss from you, and your answer should be yes."

Francis rolled his eyes, then sat up in the least possible effort to meet Arthur's lips. He kissed the bipolar Brit softly before plopping back down in his nest of blankets and pillows. 

"Francis!" Arthur complained, tossing a small pillow at him.

"Somehow, i highly doubt wanting a kiss was hardly your aim at all."

"You doubt me, frog?" Arthur huffed in faux offense. "Tsk. How rude~"

"Non, just calling you out, cher L'Anglais."

"Are we really bickering about what i may or may not need you to do?"

Francis snorted, "You hardly NEED me to get up and press play for a movie that holds no interest for me."

"Don't snort, Francis. It's very unbecoming of you."

"You know I don't like action movies."

"And you know I don't like romance movies, but that fact did not stop you at all last night."

Francis groaned, flicking his hair away from his neck.

"Your movies are all the same; the bad guys are actually good guys, cue 45 minutes of mindlessly blowing shit up, and if you're lucky, voila! A sex scene appears! Then the last five minutes are just acknowledging the destruction and leaving an open ending to another sequel that will more or less follow the same stupid plot." 

"For someone who hates action movies, you seem relatively well versed in this genre. Your movies are completely unrealistic versions of a perfect romance. The guy gets the girl, Never trust Amy because she'll just stab you in the back, and we see the same cafe shop 600 where they "coincidentally" end up meeting every other scene, there's all this drama and miscommunication and they end up being like "oh fuck i saw her with Travis i'm going to naturally assume they've been fucking around behind my back for months"-"

Francis watched in amusement as Arthur continued in overly dramatic tones.

"Who the fuck is Travis?" Francis interrupted, laughing at Arthur's logic. The Brit finished enthused.

"--But then, by the tears of Jesus, they end up finding each other and getting married."

"For someone who hates romance movies, you seem relatively well versed in this genre." Francis smirked, doing a shitty impression of Arthur's Cockney.

"You're quite the cynic as well, Francis. Many applause to you."

"Are you finally done ranting now? May I please do that amazing thing where I close my eyes and dream of the days where we didn't argue?"

"No, and those days never existed." Arthur said smoothly, while Francis groaned.

"You know what, let's go back to kissing, least you were quiet then."

"Oh please. You love me."

"Mm, that I do." Francis mumbled sleepily.

"Now, anyways, back to the matter at hand--" Arthur slapped his lover's butt in an effort to keep him conscious.

Francis huffed in irritation, burrowing deeper into the pillows.

"I'm filing for divorce if you don't let me sleep, Arthur."

"How long have we been married? Oh yes, like 5 years now."

Francis smiled fondly, "I'll never forget the look on your face when I proposed to you..." He peeked at Arthur, adoration twinkling in his eyes. "Dieu, we were kids! 18 years old!" Francis scoffed, "And you wanted to get married in Vegas."

"What's wrong with Vegas?" Arthur sniffed.

"Hm, let's start with...everything."

"Please. You just have no appreciation for--"

"--tackiness covered in sequins and neon lights? Definitely not."

Arthur sighed, reaching over for his glass of gin.

"Don't drink too much of that," Francis warned the Englishman, "You know how terrible your hangovers are."

"Then I shall drink to a special occasion." Arthur raised his glass.

"Oh, what the hell is this now?!" Exasperation was evident in the Frenchman's tone.

"I dedicate this occasion to--"

"Don't finish that sentance--"

"Francis--"

"oh my gOD--"

"pressing play for the movie!" Arthur cheered, drinking heavily from his glass.

Francis sat up, knocking the wineglass out of Arthur's hands. 

"Hey--" Arthur was cut off by a certain Frenchman in a very effective way. 

"Mm..." Arthur moaned, knotting his fingers in Francis's silky, platinum blonde hair. The two lover's tongues danced, a fierce battle of undying passion mixed with smoldering lust. Francis was relentless, heavy tongue and no mercy.

Arthur cheated by biting Francis's lip, taking advantage of the moment of brief disconnection to trail kissed from Francis's jawline, down his neck, along the grooves of his collarbone--

"You never took losing easily, did you?" Francis chuckled, heavy french toying with his endearing English. His hands massaged Arthur's full, feminine hips softly. "You cheated.~"

"I prefer 'finding an opportunity to play things in my favor'. Most people don't take that chance. I do."

"Also  known as cheating," Francis murmured against his lover's skin, lightly kissing the Brit's wrists.

"Tsk, I thought you were an optimist."

"Non, more so a dreamer."

"Then imagine this!~ A world where movies could press play all by themselves, or, better yet, a loving husband who does that same exact function--"

"Oh, alright, I'll do it!" Francis sauntered off the canopy bed, shaking his head in both disbelief and amusement. He pressed the play button with more force than necessary, nodding in satisfaction at the loud click! the DVD player sputtered out as the advertisements played onscreen.

"Was it truly necessary to take your frustration out on a defenseless DVD player?" Arthur inquired, snuggling into Francis's embrace.

"Yes, yes it was..." Francis smiled as he fell asleep to Arthur's musical laughter, faintly hearing the Briton say,

"Je T'aime, Francis. Bon nuit..."


	2. That Tease

France sighed, walking down the street. He was shopping, and has been all day, but now his feet were starting to hurt. The blonde frenchman decided to go into one last shop before finally sitting down at his favorite restaurant, La Ròse. Francis entered the book store, smiling happily. Arthur always teased France about reading, saying that the Frenchie didn't read anything except Ludwig's dirty magazines.

_"_ _Tsk! I doubt that you ever read, Francis." The Englishman scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning oh-so-adorably on his counter._

_"I do read!" Francis replied indignantly over his glass of wine._

_Arthur snorted, "Yeah, more like steal Ludwig's dirty magazines." he smirked, that oh-so-sexy smirk Francis had forever fallen in love with. Arthur sighed, gazing at the elder blonde piteously. "How rather sad, you look at those pornographic pictures because you have no other "excitement" elsewhere." Arthur came up close to the Frenchman, grazing his lips against his. "How pathetic." Arthur whispered with a smile._

_"Well, maybe not your stupid Shakespeare crap, but I do read, mon cher-"_

_By the look in Arthur's eyes, Francis realized he had gone too far._

_"Don't you dare insult the name of Shakespeare!" Arthur hissed, his gaze positively livid._

_Francis smirked, "Oh? And what are you going to do about it? Oh, Romeo!~"_

_"Don't you fucking dare! Or you will be the first Nation to die!" Arthur screamed. The Frenchman cried out over dramatically, watching Arthur's eye twitch from annoyance,_

_"Where the fuck is you, Romeo?~ Please, savest moi from this man who hath such dreadfully bushy eyebrows, oh Rom-"_

_And that is the story of how Francis had gotten both a black eye from a certain Brit, and a life sentence of sleeping on the couch._

_Never could Francis have guessed that Arthur was so protective of his literature..._

Francis rolled his eyes at the memory, wincing slightly as he bent down to retrieve a book. His back was suffering like hell from that damn couch...

So Francis decided the best way to make amends was to buy his lover his favorite book by Shakespeare.

And burn it right in front of him.

The blonde smirked, "That's what you get for making me sleep on the couch like a dog." He said aloud, getting a strange look from a passerby woman. 

Francis got Arthur's favorite book, as well as a few other novels, all of varying degrees of romance. He picked up one book that looked semi-intriguing. It was thick, and had a strange cover; Pale hands clasping a blood red apple. "Twilight...?" France said, reading the title aloud. He scanned the back of the book, reading the summary.

"Huh....a vampire romance?" Francis shook his head in amusement. "Trés interesaunt. I guess I can try it."

But little did he know that this one book would make him completely and utterly obsessed with the whole Twilight fandom. Arthur would soon cry himself to sleep every time Francis mentioned taking/forcing the Brit to yet another Twilight saga movie. 

The only thing Arthur would ever like about the next five movies was the shirtless werewolves.

Which Francis will tease him endlessly about.

And also which Arthur will never admit.

Anyway, back to the present. Francis paid for the books, and strolled out. He took a deep breath, happy to finally be done with his shopping. The cheery blonde turned left, making the trek out to his car to stow away the books plus one future obsession. He managed to fit the books in the back of his car, with all the other clothes, shoes, and other shit he had bought. 

"Merde, that was a work-out..." Francis mumbled, stepping away to avoid being hit by an angry truck driver. "Whew! I definitely need some food, and wine." Francis turned the corner, stopping for a brief smoke before going in. Francis didn't smoke that often, he just thought he looked cool while doing it. When Arthur had discovered that, he couldn't stop laughing for nearly an hour. 

The Frenchman tilted his head upwards and blew the smoke out, admiring the swirls of grey dancing in the wind. He tapped the cigarette, getting the extra stuff off, but he dropped the cigarette in surprise.

Arthur's lithe arms hugged him from behind, kissing Francis's neck and pulling him towards the darker part of the alleyway. The Brit forced him to turn, and, before Francis could question him, kisses him roughly on the lips. Arthur's hands trailed down the blonde's chest, feeling his way to the other's hips. Francis moaned, trying desperately to keep up with his lover's lust. 

_What has gotten in him?!_ Francis thought, horribly confused, _he wouldn't even speak to me for weeks! Not that I'm complaining....where the hell did he learn to kiss like that?!_

Francis could feel himself blushing, caught in between asking Arthur why he was doing this, and fucking Arthur right into the wall. 

The damn Brit was just so irresistible...

Arthur, to Francis's surprise, claimed dominance, giving Francis a necklace of hickies in record speed. Arthur's hands were everywhere: on Francis's arms, pinning them to the wall, hips bumping and grinding before the Brit moved them to the blonde's chest, then hips, thighs, then to Francis's ass....

"Ha!" Arthur yelled in victory, holding something in his hands.

"Quoi-?!" 

But Arthur just broke off Francis, sprinting like hell away from him.

"What the-why?!-ARTHUR!" Francis frantically turned over every pocket, looking desperately for his wallet.

"That English fucker ran off with my wallet!" The Frenchman hissed, "That damn tease!"and dashed after his British lover.

"I WILL BURN ALL OF SHAKESPEAR'S BOOKS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, ANGLETERRE! GIVE ME MY WALLET!"

All Francis heard back was Arthur's laughter.

Francis never did get back his wallet.

But the Frenchman did get his revenge, serving it in the form of five movie sagas worth of glittering vampires.

Years later, Arthur still finds himself crying in his sleep.


	3. Françoise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -Francis is a transwoman, and wants to show Arthur who she really is.

"S'il vous plaît, Angleterre?~" A certain frenchman pleaded over the phone in Arthur's hand. 

"No! I am not bloody going with the likes of you to the mall!" The bushy-browed Brit grumbled, setting his teacup down.

"Oh, come on! One day spent with moi won't kill you! I'll buy you clothes as well! Oh!" Francis exclaimed, his tone rising in pitch from excitment, "I know the perfect little boutique-"

"Francis-" Arthur groaned, but was quickly cut off by the elder blonde.

"-and I'm sure you need new clothes, the ones you wear to the meetings are dreadful, sorry, mon amour, but green is _s_ o last season,-"

"Fran-" 

"And oh! Shoes! How could I forget?! There are lots of shoes for a good price around Paris-"

"Francis Bonnefoy!" Arthur snapped, ending Francis's giddy rambling. "I do not want to drive all the way to Paris. I do not want to go shopping, especially with you. I do not need-Hey! My clothes aren't boring!" Arthur could practically hear the Frenchman roll his eyes.

"Mon cher, you dress like you are 80 years old and are colorblind. I'm still waiting for the day when you whip out a cane and yell at teenagers to get off your lawn." Francis chuckled, amused.

Arthur grit his teeth, "I don't dress like an elderly person! I dress like a gentleman, and-"

"Sure, sure, whatever you say, grandpa." Francis interrupted, not wanting his English boyfriend to go off on a rant. 

"Grandpa?!" Arthur shrieked, "At least I don't dress like after the meetings, my outfit could also be used for my second job, a whore!"

"Tsk! Says the one who wore ripped, tight-ass leather pants and dressed as a stripper punk for that All Hallow's Eve party! And, lest you forget, it definitely wasn't me dancing to Britney on the tables that night!"

Arthur blushed furiously, trying to recover his dignity. " I thought you said you'd never bring that up again! And, mind you, Toxic is one of my favourite songs, and admit it, my moves totally turned you on." Arthur smirked, but frowned at Francis's scoffing, "And really, my fashion isn't _that_ bad..."

"You wore SOCKS with SANDLES, Angleterre!" The elder blonde emphasized. "So? My toes hurt from that stupid thing that holds the damn shoe together!" Arthur said defensively, walking away from the table. He plopped on the couch, sighing as he listened to his boyfriend rant in french. 

"And besides," The Brit interrupted. "All that ends up happening is that I wait outside the waiting room for fucking _years_ for you just to pick out a bloody shirt! It's boring! Then there goes a day spent looking at walls and praying to whatever God there is that you'll _finall_ y decide on either silk or that fucking frou-frou shit, uh, lace!" Arthur let out a heavy sigh in frusteration. He ran his hand through his hair, feeling weary already.

"I don't wear lace, you're thinking of chiffon. Lace is kinda itchy."

"Same difference! I'm not going."

"Aw, please? You won't even have to drive, I'll come pick you up!"

"Francis..."

"I just want to spend some time with you, mon amour..." Francis pouted, playing the guilt card. 

"No."

"Pleaaaaase?"

"Goddamit. No."

The frenchman huffed, exasperated. 

"Oui!"

"You can't tell me what to do!" Arthur hissed.

"Oui, I can, and I am, so I'm picking you up in an hour!" Francis snapped, a shuffle could be heard.

"Fine! Whatever! Better not be fucking late!" Arthur yelled, jumping up and jamming his shoes on.

"Fine! Au-fucking-revoir! I fucking love you!" Francis shouted angrily back, having lost his patience.

"I fucking love you too! Goodbye, you damn frog!" Arthur shouted back, hanging up the phone. He stomped up to his room to change, grumbling obscenities about

Francis. His tea sat on the table, long forgotten.

Framcis smiled in triumph when he heard the dial tone, knowing Arthur had hung up. "I really am quite the actor, reverse psychology worked!~" He chuckled, getting in his car to go pick up his pissy boyfriend.

* **Time skip to the mall~***

Arthur sighed, eyeing the endless racks of clothes. 

"Where the hell do I even start...?" The Englishman mumbled, walking down the aisle. 

"Laaaaaaapin!~ Look!" Francis sing-songed, sashaying over to his boyfriend excitedly. "This is absolutely perfect for you! Kind of a sexy mix of badass and casual~"

"Stop waving it like the French bloody flag, I can't see it clearly." Arthur took the shirt, blushing slightly. It was a black t-shirt with gothic print angel wings on the back, and had mesh sleeves with tears in them. Small black studs aligned the wrists of the meshing, and streaks of dark blue, violet, and crimson outlined the wings on the back. 

_Francis wasn't lying, this is bloody brilliant,_ Arthur thought, smiling fondly. "Yeah, this is aight. You have a pretty good taste in fashion after all, Francis."

Francis smiled proudly, pulling another piece of clothing out. "I think these will go rather well with the shirt, oui?~"

He held up a pair of dark crimson pants that were adorned with black leather laced up in a crisscross pattern up the thighs for Arthur. 

The younger blonde's eyes widened.

"Holy. Shit." Arthur breathed out. "Now these are some damn fine clothes!"

Francis chuckled, taking Arthur's hand. "Oui, oui, I'm wonderful. Now, I need you to tell me if I look good in these clothes..."

Arthur groaned loudly. "Fuck. How did I know you were going to do this. Tsk. Nothing is free with you, is it?"

"I'm going to be a nice boyfriend and not say the joke that you so easily set up for me. C'mon, it won't take that long! Plus, I...actually really need y-your opinion." Nervousness coloured Francis's voice.

"Hm? What, are you going to go for an American style? Oh God, we don't need another Alfred. His style is horrendous." 

"Quoi?! Oh hell non! Amerique doesn't even pull up his pants, he does that weird sagging thing, regardless of how many belts I buy him. Americans are strange." Francis shuddered, but he still looked nervous. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, wanting to know what was wrong, but not knowing how to ask. 

_What is Francis going to do....?_

The two lovers got to the dressing room, and Francis was practically sweating with nervousness.

"O-Okay, just wait here, a-and...please don't laugh. It's the first time I'm doing this, please. I trust you, Arthur." Francis stuttered out, blushing. 

Arthur sat down on a lone bench, eyes softened. "Not sure why you're so nervous, but I promise I won't laugh. Why would I? Clothes are just clothes, love." The elder blonde gave his lover a faint smile and hurried over to the dressing stall. Arthur waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Time went by, and he was insanely curious as well as confused as to what Francis was doing. 

It seemed like hours since his beloved frenchman had first entered the dressing room.

Now even Arthur was starting to get worried.

_What, did the bloody twat die in there? Drown in too much satin? Death by lace?_

"A-Angleterre, I-I'll be out in a moment..." At long last, the lovely french accent reached Arthur's ears. "Why are you so nervous? You don't have bad taste, I mean, unless you discovered an undying passion for crocs or something, then it's nothing to be worried about. And besides, I-"

Arthur went dead silent as Francis stepped out of the dressing room, his eyes as wide as plates.

Francis was dressed in a floor length, white dress with stardust gold accents throughout it, shimmering diamonds dusted along the sweetheart neckline, he was simply gorgeous.

"I don't want to hide anymore. I-It doesn't feel right as a guy, I...this is me. I want to be a girl..." Francis gave a small smile and spun quickly in a circle, letting Arthur see him-or, rather, her- from all angles. 

Still, Arthur was silent.

Francis bit her lip, extremely worried, "Please don't be mad, I-I, this is me, I'm still the same Francis you've always known me to be, I still love you, I just...please don't be disgusted-"

"Disgusted?!" Arthur cried out in shock. "How could I be disgusted? You look gorgeous! I was just...completely blown away. You look so pretty, I can't even explain it.

This..." The Englishman walked over, smiling and blushing. Arthur ran a soft hand along the dress. "This is you. I don't know how, or why, and I don't care. I don't need to know why, I don't need an explanation, but I want you to know something, Francis."

The beautiful frenchwoman looked about ready to cry, but nodded, "Yes?..."

"Je t'aime, Françoise. You look absolutely lovely!" Arthur grinned, taking her hand and dancing slowly together.

Françoise threw her arms around the Englishman, tears of happiness running down her face as she cried. "You ruined my language yet again, but I love you too! Oh mon dieu....Arthur...T-This means so much to me, your acceptance, I was worried..."

Arthur smiled softly, holding her close. "What could you possibly be worried about? Not finding shoes to match this brillant dress?" he teased lightly. 

Françoise laughed, wiping away her tears. "Non, you idiot. I just...I was afraid that you'd be weirded out, and...leave."

Arthur grinned, "Well, I may be an idiot, but I'm YOUR idiot~. Besides, this changes nothing." He gestured to her dress. "So what if you like to wear dresses or pants? Pink or blue? I think the person under the clothes matters much more. I just want you to be happy. And that's the only thing that counts."

Françoise's mouth opened in awe. "That may be the nicest thing I've ever heard you say."

Arthur scoffed, pouting. "Hey, I do say nice things! But when someone's being an ass, I just kindly let them know-"

"'Kindly'. Yes, that's _definitely_ the adjective I'd use." Françoise replied sarcastically.

"Excuse me, I'm offended. You have wounded my pride. Congratulations, you get to buy my clothes." Arthur said, smiling amusedly.

"Oh no, did I hurt my Lord's foolish pride?~" Françoise teased, kissing Arthur's hand. "Whatever shall I do to redeem myself? However, pride shall become the death of you, my Lord~"

Arthur sighed, admitting, "You ARE my pride. You are my everything. I'd sacrifice it all for you. You mean so much to me..."

Françoise smiled, kissing him on the cheek. "You can be so sweet, when you want to be. I wish you'd be this way more often..."

The younger blonde chuckled softly, "I mean it though. Girl, boy, I don't care. You wanna what I care about?" He gave his lover an Eskimo kiss, "You."

"Thank you, Arthur." She murmured, weaving her arms around Arthur's waist.

"No need to thank me, darling." He smirked, "But you're gonna have a hell of a time topping this outfit. This is the most stunning thing I've ever seen you in, love!" The

Frenchwoman laughed, pulling away. "Trust me, you haven't seen anything yet!~" 

Arthur suddenly ran up to her, embracing her in a tight hug.

"I need you to know that no matter what, I'll always love you. However far you want to go through with this transition, I'll support you every step of the way. Cuz I love ya, Frenchie." He pulled away slightly, kissing Françoise passionately.

She pulled away after a bit for air, eyes slightly watery. 

"Thank you, Arthur....For everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww....I have a weakness for Trans! nations. So fluffy~
> 
> Komment or Kudos if you liked this! Suggestions are welcome!


	4. Vampire! Fruk: Love Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis is a vampire, and hates himself for being one. The hatred has gotten to the point where he has denied himself blood for months. Arthur comes by Francis's house, and Francis has to fight everything in his body to not drink every last drop of the Brit.
> 
> *****This is told in Francis's POV*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******This is told in Francis's POV********

I glanced around me, trying to make sense of all the scents. Inhaling deeply, I stood near the edge of roof. I looked up at the stars, furiously wondering why I was condemned to this hell.

Why did I have to be a vampire? Why did I have to be in constant fear of myself, of losing control? It was maddening to be so fearful of who you are, or rather, what you are. To be scared if someone has even a slight paper cut, if someone has a scratch, if the mere mention of blood will trigger a frenzy. If a frenzy occurs...then I would completely lose control. I had to make sure that losing control would never happen, because if it did...I shuddered at the thought.

Wincing, I rubbed my throat, breathing slightly faster. One of the worst things about being a vampire is the thirst. It feels like liquid fire, which only gets worse with each passing day if one does not feed.

I had not fed in over a month.

"Fuck..." I breathed out, gritting my teeth as I felt a rush of pain. I let out a disgusted sigh as my fangs lengthened. I hissed as my head ached, a sign that my eyes were turning dark red. Breathing hard, I tried to fight it, the monster within me who always screamed for more.

"Why the hell do I always feel this way?! Why do I have to be a vampire, a-a...monster?!" I backed up to the wall. I put my fingertips to my fangs. They were sharp as a blade, smooth, and extremely sensitive. I moaned slightly, blushing red.

"I really am a monster. I crave blood...this thirst is a burning fire threatening to consume me." I chuckled bitterly. "Ironic, how the Nation of love and beauty can be such a monster, and full of darkness."

The only other Nation who knew about my situation was Matthieu. I know I'm not the only vampire; there are lots of them spread out all around the world. It just feels like it is because vampires try to maintain a human appearance, so as to not gain any suspicion. Not sure how some humans would react if they knew that vampires lived among them.

I sat down, trying to clear my head and push away the craving. If anything, the fire intensified, and I gasped and shook in restraint. I...I can't let myself lose control...I thought desperately, There's too many innocent lives at stake. I've resisted this thirst for much longer than this, why is it so intense now?! My throat burned harshly as a distinct, familiar scent blew through the air. "No..." I breathed out in horror.

I stiffened as I heard a knock at my door. My breathing hitched as I recognized the scent immediately. I scrambled to my feet, unsure of what to do.

"Fuck!" I hissed. "Just what do I do now?" I punched the wall, breathing heavily as I desperately tried to calm down.

"France, you asshat, I know you are in there! Open the door, love." Arthur's voice broke through my concentration. I walked hesitantly to the door, and opened it slowly.

Angleterre threw himself at me. My red eyes widened at his action. My arms wrapped around him, my lips at his throat. I choked back a sob as I felt the fire burn through me.

I could feel the blood rushing in my ears, my heart pumping wildly. My fangs tingled with excitement. Suddenly, a hot wave of need swept over me, a bright blush on my cheeks.

"Angleterre, why did you come here? You know it's not...safe right now." I mumbled against his smooth skin. I felt his body shake as Arthur laughed quietly, completely unafraid. Is he brave or just plain stupid for getting this close to me, a vampire? I wondered idly.

"I'm not afraid of you, France. I have no reason to ever be afraid of someone as sweet and gentle as you. I know you would never hurt me." He turned his head to face him. I closed my eyes, avoiding his searching gaze. I was completely intoxicated in his wonderful scent; Arthur smelled of lilac and roses, yet had a dark undertone.

Absolutely delectable.

No, Francis. I mentally scolded myself. But I had to get out of here soon; it was getting too hard to not think about biting that soft, lovely neck of his, splashing his crimson elixir into my burning mouth, quenching the fire that burned for oh-so-long-

"Francis, love, open your eyes, why is it not safe to be here?" Arthur's voice interrupted my train of thought, "You told me that before and now today, but you never told me why." He ran his hand along my face. Impulsively, I kissed his wrist, quickly inhaling his lovely scent.

"Why don't you ask yourself if you really want to know what is wrong with me? Do you truly even want to know? Because I don't think you'd like what I have to say..." I bit my lip, tracing my fingertips along his wrist gently.

My gaze caught Arthur's, and I saw him gasp a bit in surprise.

"You're a...vampire?"

I nodded, my fists clenched so tightly, beads of blood dripped onto the floor, and then turned my back to him.

"Go ahead, call me a monster. I-I am a demon, please, I-" I was cut short as Arthur hugged me tightly from behind. I felt his body shake as I quickly realized he was laughing.

"How could I possibly hate you, France? You are not a monster, nor a demon. You are lovely, full of life and happiness and beauty." He turned me towards him, looking into my eyes. "And if you are a monster, then...Les monstres tombent aussi amoureux." I gasped loudly; Arthur spoke a whole sentence in French perfectly.

"Even monsters fall in love..." I whispered, translating his words. "Are you saying that you...?"

"Fell in love with a 'monster'?" he smiled, kissing me sweetly, "Well, not quite, but yes, I am in love with you, France. And you are most certainly not a monster, I promise you."

Angleterre pressed his lips to mine, his tongue running over my fangs. He caught me by surprise, and I couldn't suppress the loud moan that escaped my lips. My hands tightened around his hips, pulling him closer.

Hot, sharp waves of unrelenting need crashed down on me, again and again, heat filling every pore of my body. The lust was driving me insane, only the barest bits of whatever sanity I had left restraining me from draining every drop from him. He kissed me deeper, his arms locked around me, our tongues battling in a deadly dance of dominance.

Blood...

I want...no, I need blood...

Oh, god...!

"Hahh...!" I moaned out, feeling myself starting to give in to a blood lusting frenzy. Arthur had no trouble keeping up with my lust, his own sounds music to my ears. I pushed him up against the wall, pinning his arms roughly. Blood pumping dizzyingly in my ears, my body seemed to have a mind of its own.

Arthur pulled against my arms, his face blushed heavily.

"F-Francis, wait-" He breathed out, but I cut him off with as growl, returning my lips to his.

I need you...

I need this...

Subconsciously, I knew I had to stop. This was quickly getting out of control. I was risking Arthur's life for this, a stupid kiss!

But I couldn't stop.

 

Arthur moaned loudly, my pace far too fast now for him to keep up. His skin was hot, burning to the touch, a bright blush tinged across his cheeks. I could hear his heart beating furiously, with each resonating pump sending me more and more off the edge.

So close...

Please understand...

Hands were everywhere; mine on Arthur's hips, pawing harshly at his chest, trailing downwards, scratching his arms in a wild passion, Arthur's hands around my neck tightly, in my hair, yanking harshly when caught up in lust.

S N A P.

My will broke.

Nothing could pull me out of this. I was in far too deep. I was in bloodlust.

My lips grazed his neck, searching for the perfect place. Arthur screamed, realizing just how dangerous I was. I chuckled darkly as he tried pulling away sharply. My fangs rested on his neck, and a shock of pure, hot ecstasy raced harshly through both of us, more so in Arthur. He gasped, not comprehending; only being flooded with pleasure that was so intense, it was painful for him. I grinned slightly, putting my full weight on him, slowly starting to break the skin-

"Stop! Francis, please, stop!-" Arthur cried out, turning his head away from me. He desperately tried to get away, flailing wildly.

Why can't I stop?

Oh no-

Stop, Francis, please, stop!

His words echoed in my head, I pulled away, my thirst rising to an unbearable level. Choking back a scream of agony, I put my hand over my mouth. I sucked in a huge breath of air, willing myself to gain back control and hold my breath. I backed as far as I could away from Arthur, and collapsed against the wall, tears streaming down my face. My shoulders shook with each silent sob, violent tremours running throughout my body. Disgust and repulsion filled my being, the horror of what I very nearly did haunting me.

Arthur slumped against the wall across the room, gasping wildly for breath. Several silent moments passed, both of us trying to catch our breath.

"Well," Arthur said breathlessly, "I won't lie, that was amazing...you are one hell of a kisser, Francis. I almost didn't want it to end." He ran a hand through his hair, his face still profusely blushing. "I've never felt that way before...that was...electric, damn, I could easily get addicted to that rush. But that was also terrifying..." Arthur gazed at me, and in those eyes was not fear, but more so understanding. "Is...that why you...needed space?" His voice was soft, compassionate.

I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I couldn't speak; the pain was just too much to bear. I managed to nod, hand still clamped firmly over my mouth.

To my horror, he crossed the room and kneeled next to me. My head snapped up, my dark crimson eyes widened in shock. I gasped as Arthur tugged at his shirt and leaned in.

"You have to drink at some point. You can't keep delaying your thirst. I'm your boyfriend, I care so much about your stupid ass and I'm not going to let you be in pain when there is a way for me to stop it. Just please," Arthur murmured, tilting his head to the side, "trust me."

I wanted to. Oh god, how I wanted to trust him. But he couldn't control the fact that I may drink too much. He can't trust me because I cannot promise him his life.

"Arthur, please, you have to realize that I may not be able to stop once I start." Need swelled up thickly in me again, damn, he was just so delectable. "I don't know if I can guarantee your—"

"Then I guess the real problem lies in whether or not you trust yourself." He interrupted smoothly, "I trust you, Francis. I trust you with my life. I love you, and I promise that there is nothing that you can ever do to revoke that. You are not a monster. You are the love of my life who happens to be a hot-as-hell vampire. I'd reckon I'm the luckiest twink on earth to have you by my side. Sorry, but you aren't leaving me. I'm too selfish, you know that." He winked at me, trying to lighten the mood.

I laughed breathily, amazed at his understanding. "A-Alright, I guess I trust me too. But if anything hurts, tell me right away." But I knew he could see in my eyes the strain behind the promise. "And...thank you. For understanding, and not, like, sprinting out the door in terror."

Arthur scoffed, sitting on my lap, "So little faith in me. What can I say, I may or may not have a secret fetish for vampires." He smirked, "So no need to be gentle~"

I rolled my eyes, laughing, "God, I love you."

"I love you too, my little vampire."

I sighed at the new nickname, and kissed the Briton softly. I trailed butterfly kisses from his jawline to his neck, trying to be as gentle as possible. I felt his breathing hitch as I grazed his neck, my fangs extending. Desire hit me with the force of a semi-truck at a speed of 200 mph, and I knew there was no backing out now.

I bit him hard, unable to control myself. Arthur shrieked in pure ecstasy, the endorphins from my bite flooding through his body. He moaned loudly, his body flushed with heat. He was much too hot against my much too cold body, but I enjoyed it; fire and ice, clashing together into something beautiful. I doubted Arthur had ever felt such a pure, intense pleasure before.

As time goes on from the last feeding a vampire has, the stronger the endorphins are when the next feeding comes. This is because it would be an incredibly painful process without the thrilling high; the endorphins act as a pain blocker as the host feeds. In fact, they pretty much turn the pain into its opposite: pleasure. So for Arthur, with a month's wait in between, he is getting the strongest rush coursing through him than normal. Which is actually harming him more than anything, seeing as a vampire's bite is so very highly addictive. To put it in much understated terms, a vampire's bite makes even the strongest drugs feel like nothing more than weak Advil.

I, on the other hand, felt immense relief. Never have I tasted such untainted blood, free from alcohol and sickness. I was surprised by how quickly the monster within died down, becoming satisfied. After ten minutes, I pulled away, gasping for breath.

Arthur's eyes were glassy; the high hasn't left him yet.

"Holy...fucking...hell..." He breathed out, basking in the afterglow. I chuckled, picking him up and carrying him to our bed.

"I'm guessing you didn't feel any pain. Which is good." I cuddled up to him, feeling much more alive, and far stronger.

"You...are certainly not a monster if...you can make people feel that..." He trailed off, his voice thick. "I-I may need to change my jeans, that was so...wow..."

I burst out laughing, "Are you telling me that you--?!"

"Yes, I did. And I regret absolutely nothing." Arthur grinned lazily, his tone completely unashamed. "Never have I ever felt such a pleasing release~"

"Oh Dieu, save the details for later and go shower. But, um," I bit my lip, unsure. "You...aren't afraid of me, right?"

"Afraid of you?! No, love. I could never feel that way about you. Sure, is there a fear that there may be another close call like the one earlier today? Yes. There will always be that worry because it may not just be me. What if Matthieu scrapes his knee and you haven't fed in over a month? Could you stop yourself then? Or what about Alfred? Or Lovino?" He smiled softly, "But that is just a fact that comes with a vampire. I know how easily you could have taken my life. You could just as easily take others, too. And by mere accident. A paper cut. A random bloody nose. A scratch. But you have to realize the thing I do fear is not you, Francis. I fear the possibility of death."

I was confused. Where the hell was he going with this?

Arthur must've guessed I wasn't following, and tried to explain. "Okay, so you know how some people are afraid of falling in love? In actuality, they don't fear love, they fear numerous things; rejection, heartbreak, etc. People aren't afraid of heights; they fear falling. People don't fear the dark; they fear what could be in it. I'm not afraid of you, I'm afraid of the risk.

"But you can't blame me for that. I mean, it's like if I carried around a gun everywhere I went. People would naturally be afraid, not of me, but of the fact that I carry a thing that could be used to do harm. Of course, I wouldn't use it to intentionally hurt someone. But what if a stranger came and tried to hurt you? Then I would most definitely be shooting his ass full of lead. But what if it was just a misunderstanding? Say he was drunk and mistook you for his enemy. Say he was merely trying to stop himself from falling and accidentally took you down with him. But I shot him anyway, convinced that he was out to hurt you.

"People are afraid of that, Francis. The chance of brushing up with dear old Death. Nobody wants to risk dying because we have no clue what truly happens afterwards. Will we go to heaven? Hell? Someplace in between, or will we be simply nothing at all? We can't imagine this life ending, and won't accept it. We don't want our colours to fade to black, our candles blown out, and a forever night.

"We fear what we do not know, what we do not understand. It has been that way since the beginning of time itself, darling. So when I say I am afraid, please understand that it is not you I fear." Arthur finished smoothly, looking up to my awed expression.

"I think you just put Dr. Phil out of business, Arthur. That was actually incredibly insightful." Arthur laughed easily, kissing my forehead. "And...thank you. It means the world to me that you, you know, are okay with me."

"And what kind of lover would I be if I couldn't do something as simple as that?" Arthur quoted in perfect London.

I groaned, pushing him towards the shower, "Okay Sebastian, go shower, you smelly demon."

"Yes, my lord~" Arthur smirked, bowing gracefully before slipping into the bathroom.

"You are an idiot," I shook my head, blushing, "But you're my idiot."

"And, Francis?"

"Oui?" I asked softly. 

Arthur flashed a smile at me. "I love you no matter what you become."

He shut the door after that.


	5. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \---the fucking usernames lmfao

Francis Bonnefoy strolled around the kitchen, dreadfully bored. His dear Angleterre was at a dreadfully boring meeting full of dreadfully boring people, and wouldn't get back until late. This left a lot of time to be dreadfully bored.

"Mm, what the hell should I do..." The gorgeous Frenchman muttered, plopping down on the squishy sofa. Francis thought of all the things he'd done today, hoping he forgot something so he could find something to do.

Hm...

Francis had cleaned, organized, and polished all the rooms; hung up all the paintings he bought a few weeks ago; changed some furniture placement-which was sure to piss off Arthur- and also changed the sheets to a pretty rose gold; spent the majority of the morning on Pinterest and Tumblr before finally uploading a shit ton of selfies and pictures of him and Arthur to Instagram; tended to the flowers that desperately needed weeding; mowed the grass as well as cut back the hedges; made quite the shopping spree and stocked up on food, books, movies, clothes, magazines, anime, beauty products, decorations, and a special outfit for Arthur; and last but not least, cooked an amazing dinner, which now is packed away for when his lover comes home from his dreadfully boring meeting.

There was nothing left to do.

Francis sighed. He hated being bored.

But then a wonderful distraction came to mind...

"I'm sure I could use a drink. After all, what goes better with Twilight than dear old Red?"

Francis, his job being a five-star barista at a famous gay nightclub called Red, was certainly no stranger to rare alcohol. He collected bottles of different liquors, vodkas, tequilas, and rums from all over the world, including some varieties of moonshine. He spent a very long while in school learning about different combinations, tastes, scents, and bar tricks. It most definitely paid off, seeing as he is now one of Europe's most talented baristas.

So Francis decided on making a Vampire Kiss, which was a popular drink around Halloween at Red. After about ten minutes of debating whether or not to add more vodka to it, he was done. The end result was a dark crimson and black liquid with an 80% proof, and two cherries floating on top.

Francis rummaged around in the fridge, and pulled out a tin of lemon bread, which paired nicely with his I-probably-won't-drive-for-a-month-after-this drink. After turning off all the lights, he laid on the squishy sofa as a Twilight marathon played on the HD flat screen.

Francis dug his phone out of his pocket and checked his messages. One from Matthieu, three from Antonio, and one from Arthur.

_**To: SexieFrenchie** _

_**From: maplesyrupislovemaplesyrupislife** _

_**Re: papa help** _

_**maplesyrupislovemaplesyrupislife:** _

_**Hey papa, I was wondering if you could come over some time and help me sort out my funds. I don't understand how to retail, and would very much appreciate it if you'd lend a hand. Plus, you know, Amerique fucked up all his debt notices again. China's pissed. He needs help too. S'il vous plait, papa?** _

 

Francis sighed, muttering swears in French about Americans as his nimble fingers scuttled across the keyboard.

_**To: maplesyrupislovemaplesyrupislife** _

_**From: SexieFrenchie** _

_**Re: amerique is a dumbass** _

_**SexieFrenchie:** _

_**Oui, Matthieu, I would be glad to help. It's no problem. I haven't seen you in ages! I miss you! Amerique is hopeless. As usual. Not sure if I can make a dent in the idiot, but I will try. Is Monday alright? Should give me enough time to fly over.** _

 

He was surprised Matthieu wrote back so quickly; it was close to 3 a.m. in his time.

_**To: SexieFrenchie** _

_**From: maplesyrupislovemaplesyrupislife** _

_**Re: hahaha** _

_**maplesyrupislovemaplesyrupislife:** _

_**Oh, merci beaucoup, Papa! Monday works perfectly, and yes, I miss you too. Je t'aime, Francis.** _

 

Francis grinned and sipped his drink, clicking on Antonio next.

_**To: SexieFrenchie** _

_**From: thatasstho** _

_**Re: necessito ayudar por favor porque Gilbert es un perro** _

_**thatasstho:** _

_**Francis, gilbert won't stop drinking my sangria** _

_**thatasstho:** _

_**he just told me that you slept with him. iS THAT TRUE?!?!?!!?** _

_**thatasstho:** _

_**OH MIOS DIOS AMIGO MIERDA YOU BETTER BE JOKING BECAUSE HE IS THE WORST IN BED. I ACTUALLY FEEL SORRY FOR YOU** _

 

Although the Frenchman wondered how Antonio would know about Gilbert's performance in bed, he replied anyway.

_**To: thatasstho** _

_**From: SexieFrenchie** _

_**Re: the hell you want me to do about it** _

_**SexyFrenchie:** _

_**Mon Dieu, you know I have better taste than his cardboard ass ;)** _

_**SexyFrenchie:** _

_**though how the hell would you know how gilbert does in bed, Antonio?~** _

_**SexyFrenchie:** _

_**but if we are comparing performances here, you are definitely be far better in bed (And I speak from experience ;)) than I'd imagine gilbert would. Just for the record. Though I do outshine the both of you by default ;);)** _

He quickly shot off a text to Gilbert before drinking heavily from his drink.

**_To: ivoryprincess_ **

**_From: SexieFrenchie_ **

**_Re: hey bby_ **

**_SexieFrenchie:_ **

**_Don't steal toni's sangria unless you would prefer not being able to walk for, say, a year, if you know what I mean ;)he'd break your porcelain ass_ **

**_SexieFrenchie:_ **

**_also, toni says you suck in bed. I want all the details by tomorrow~_ **

Francis was tipsy at this point, and had a hard time focusing on his grammar. He tapped the inbox, and had to reread the text from Arthur three times before he understood.

_**To: SexieFrenchie** _

_**From: youaremycupoftea** _

_**Re: hello love <3** _

_**youaremycupoftea:** _

_**I'll be home in about an hour, sorry it's taking so damn long. These fucks don't know what they are doing. By the way, since there's a break, what did you do today? Hopefully yours was more interesting than mine.** _

 

Francis squinted at the keyboard, blinking repeatedly.

_**To: youaremycupoftea** _

_**From: SexieFrenchie** _

_**Re: <3 <3 /3!1!!** _

_**SexieFrenchie:** _

_**I clened the hous et made a magnifjske dinner et niw imm wachin twilite** _

 

He laughed at his errors, and sent the message. Much past tipsy and heading straight to wasted, he fell back heavily into the couch.

_**To: SexieFrenchie** _

_**From: youaremycupoftea** _

_**Re: ????** _

_**youaremycupoftea:** _

_***cleaned** _

_***house** _

_***magnificent** _

_***now** _

_***I'm** _

_***watching** _

_***Twilight.** _

_**Why all the errors? Are you alright?! Or are you drinking? I'm not there to watch you, love, what is going on?** _

_**To: youaremycupoftea** _

_**From: SexieFrenchie** _

_**Re: y the hell u gotta b a grammer nazi** _

_**SexieFrenchie:** _

_**nonn chere je suis felix et Edward lookss lik a hoe. I am muh fin, duntt wirrie** _

_**To: SexieFrenchie** _

_**From: youaremycupoftea** _

_**Re: why the hell do you have to be such a fuckbucket** _

_**youaremycupoftea:** _

_**not even going to fix that one. And Edward is not a hoe, he's gorgeous, mind you. I'm calling you.** _

 

Francis fumbled with the phone as it blared Arthur's ringtone, which was Angel, by the XX, and slurred a heavy greeting.

"Bonjouuuur, L'anglais~"

He heard Arthur chuckle on the other end, and grinned drunkenly.

"Well, hello to you as well, love. Sounds like you started the party without me. But how much have you drunk? You sound pretty pissed already."

"Hm, I only made a Baiser de Vampyre, thassit. Hurry up and get home then, you're missing Jacob with no shirt on~"

"Francis! You know that you cannot handle heavy ones like that!" Arthur was worried now, and he paced around the meeting room anxiously. "Shit. You know what happens when you down vodka. You better not have any desire to drive." He warned, "Because I am not there to save your ass."

Francis couldn't focus on the words Arthur was saying, all his attention was on that lovely Cockney accent of his...

"You have the most beautiful voice..." He gushed excitedly, loudly slurping his drink.

"You weren't listening to a word I said, were you?" The Briton bit his lip, much more worried now. "Just...stay there. I'm leaving now; I will be home in ten minutes." Francis heard shuffling going on in the background, "Alright?"

Francis nodded, forgetting he couldn't see the gesture until Arthur asked again.

"Oui, no problem! I love youuu~"

"I love you as well. Please don't do anything stupid."

Francis shut his phone when Arthur hung up, and clumsily dropped it on the floor. He speared a piece of lemon bread, and ate half of it.

On screen, Bella was ready to jump off a cliff in order to see her love, Edward.

"Edward..." Bella whispered, closing her eyes.

"What an idiot," Francis complained, "What kind of shit is she pulling if she can see ghost Edward only when she's about to do reckless stuff? And why doesn't Ghost Edward fucking help her instead of saying "don't do this, it's dangerous"? Fucking help her then if it's such a concern, Ghost Edward."

"Arguing with the telly?" An amused Cockney interrupted a slurred French rant.

"Though you do have a point. Edward shouldn't've left in the first place, seeing as Bella was clearly still susceptible to vampire enemies since they never really took care of Victoria."

Francis squealed when he saw Arthur and stumbled violently to him, eventually collapsing into his arms.

"I missed you so much! You were gone for so long..." Francis hugged Arthur tightly, his heavy French accent thicker than normal due to being completely wasted.

Arthur staggered, going slightly cross-eyed from smelling the strong alcohol on him, "Jesus fuck, Francis! Just what the hell did you put in that drink?! Poison?! It's bloody strong, whatever it is."

"Why the hell did you even get so pissed tonight? Was there a reason, or just because?" Arthur wondered, sitting next to his lover.

"I was so very bored, dear English. Thought it would be a welcome distraction," The Frenchman kissed Arthur heatedly, running his hand along the Briton's inner thigh. Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his jeans quickly becoming far too tight.

If it were his choice, Arthur probably would have had Francis down on his knees, and by the end of the night, Francis would have screamed so loud that the neighbors would know the Brit's name. Arthur knew exactly how easy it would be, too. Francis probably wouldn't even remember it...

But Arthur knew Francis would have felt destroyed, as that goes against everything the Frenchman stood for. Arthur respected that fact, and does everything in his power to honor his values.

"A-Alright, drunkie, you smell terrible." Arthur moved away from Francis, blushing red.

"Mm, if that's the angle you'd like to play your distance on, I'll pretend as well."

Arthur scowled at Francis; sometimes it was an inconvenience to have one person know you better than you know yourself.

Francis laughed easily, leaning over to the coffee table. Before Arthur could stop him, he chugged nearly its entire contents in mere seconds, a bit of the red drink splashing on his clothes due to misplacement.

"I think you have had enough for one night," Arthur tried to snatch the tall glass, but Francis huffed and turned away from him.

"'Ey, I worked hard on this drink! So non-" He gulped more of it, shielding it away from Arthur.

"Francis, come on," Exasperation laced his tone, "Can we end this on the nice note? We can watch the movies together, all cuddled up," He lunged for the glass, "Just please give me the drink!"

Francis thought about that, and gave Arthur the Vampire Kiss.

"Try it, I wanna know if I have impressed you with my skills yet~"

Arthur raised his eyebrows, "You know I'm not supposed to drink. Plus, just the smell alone makes my eyes water. It must taste like fucking fire."

"Oh s'il vous plait, there's hardly any left, just try it. Yeah, it's strong though. It's got a sharp bite afterwards..."

Arthur stared at the drink, looking it as one might look at a growling dog; terrified, but hopeful it won't bite. He sighed,

"Fine, I guess..."

Arthur quickly threw his head back and downed it, gasping.

"What the actual hell did you put in that?! I-I feel like my throat is on fire, oh dear gOD-"

Francis waved his hand dismissively, nearly nailing Arthur in the face. "You'll be fine, the proof is only, like, 80."

"80% PROOF?! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU GAVE AN ALCOHOLIC SOMETHING WITH A PROOF OF 80?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR BLOODY MIND?!" Arthur looked furious, to say the complete understatement.

Francis scoffed, "You aren't an alcoholic, L'anglais. If anything, you'd be a binge drinker."

"THAT IS NOT THE POINT. YOU FUCKIN-"

Francis cut Arthur off with a kiss, even though this was the most wasted Francis has ever been in his whole life, Arthur was shocked that he could still kiss as good, if not better, as he does when sober.

The only thing that ruined it was the taste of vodka on Francis's tongue.

"L-Love, wow..." Arthur pulled away, gasping for breath. "How do you even manage to kiss like that when you can't even sit in a semi upright position? Damn..."

Francis chuckled and snuggled up to his dear Briton. "One of my trade secrets~ By the way..."

"Mm?" Arthur murmured, stroking Francis's silky hair.

"I love you."

Arthur smiled as Francis fell asleep instantly after that.

"I love you too, Francis," He sighed, pulling a blanket over the two of them.

"Though I don't envy the headache you will have when you awake..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Komment or Kudos if you liked this!


	6. Barista! AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \---Allistar (Scotland) is an asshole in this fic, I'm sorry.

Arthur Kirkland was a barista at Starbucks. He hated his job. He hated dealing with people, hated the whole pretentious filling of the cups with caffeinated rubbish, hated having to act nice around people he found annoying. 

Most of all, Arthur hated seeing that stupid Frenchman, Francis Bonnefoy.

“Bloody stupid frog.” Arthur cursed under his breath, stomping on the snowy sidewalk to Starbucks. “‘Oh, oui, I’ll have the pumpkin spiced latte!~’” The Briton mocked in bastardized French, imitating Francis.  “I hate everything about him, dammitt. His stupid, flowy, platinum hair, always put up in a stupidly perfect bun, his stupid, azure eyes-” Arthur yelped, swearing loudly as he almost slipped on the ice on the sidewalk.

He would have fell if a certain someone hadn’t caught him.

“Angleterre!~ Oh, mon chere, are you alright?” Francis worried, putting his arm around the Briton’s waist to steady him. 

Arthur grit his teeth at the sound of a heavy French accent  flooding his ears. 

“I’m bloody fine, you twat! Get your paws off of me.” Arthur huffed, stuffing his earbuds back in. 

“And have you fall again? Not likely.” A gorgeous smile graced the Frenchman’s lips, momentarily stunning Arthur. The Brit blushed, a light rose colour fanned across his sharp cheekbones. The two of them crossed Lily Street, making their way to Starbucks.

“S-Shut up, Napoleon. Anyway, what the hell are you doing here?” Suspicion laced Arthur’s tone as the pair slowly walked along the sidewalk again, “Are you stalking me? Haven’t you anything better to do than spy on a grungy teen trying to go to his stupid job?” The Brit was acutely aware of Francis’s arm around his waist, but feigned indifference.

Francis rolled his eyes, secretly pleased that Arthur didn’t pull away. “You’re hardly worth that effort, mon ami.” Francis laughed as Arthur scowled and flipped the Frenchman off. “I’m just kidding! I came here to get my usual.”

“Do you purposely come here to annoy me? Is that your sole purpose in life?” Arthur tsked, “If so, you need to find another destiny, frog.”

Francis smirked, opening the door to the cosy building. Warm air brushed past their frosty faces, and Arthur watched with fascination as the breeze teased Francis’s hair, platinum blonde strands gliding across the smooth contours of his elegantly structured cheekbones.  It was like one of those shampoo commercials, where the models pose and there’s a fan that makes their hair dance in the wind. Suddenly, Arthur reached up and gently caressed the Frenchman’s super soft hair. Utter shock lit up his azure eyes, and Francis stood perfectly still as Arthur ran his fingers along the smooth strands. The Frenchman closed his eyes and leaned against Arthur’s hand.

Just as suddenly, Arthur yanked his hand away, causing Francis to bang his head on the door. 

“Mon dieu! Was that necessary?! Can’t you ever be nice?!”

Arthur looked back to throw a smirk at the Frenchman as he crossed the busy Starbucks. ¨Completely necessary, love.¨ And with that, the Briton stepped into his barista stand and into the back room. 

Once in the backroom, he sighed loudly, tying on his black apron. He loved Francis, with all his heart. But Arthur would rather die than admit it. Every ¨I hate you, Frog!¨ meant ¨I love you, dammit!”. Arthur suspected Francis knew Arthur´s opposite language, but the Frenchman never voiced his suspicions. Arthur was too scared of being rejected to really try to ask Francis out, so he avoided the Frenchman and his feelings whenever he could. But sometimes, he just couldn´t help himself. 

_ God, Francis´s hair is so soft... _ Arthur scowled, mentally yelling at himself for even doing that to the Frog. Great. Now Francis will probably be even more confused about their relationship than ever. Arthur groaned and banged his head on the wall.

¨Why can´t I just treat him like a friend? Hell, I tell him he´s nothing more than a friend to me, then I go ´round touching his stupidly perfect hair. Back and forth between that all the time, I get too close, then I´ve gotta step far, far away. Grrr. How do I tell him that I like him?¨ 

¨You just man up and tell him, Kirkland.¨ Antonio, Arthur´s co-worker,  said matter-of-factly. ¨You can´t just tell him, ¨Oh we´re friends¨ and then in the same breath, lead him on like that. Either you´re friends, or you just ask him out. It´s not that hard. And stop knocking your head against the wall, what did that poor wall ever do to you, eh?¨

Arthur rolled his emerald eyes but quit bitching and walked out, ready to work.

Still standing in the doorway, Francis broke into a lovestruck grin. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, and laughed musically to himself as he stood in line. 

¨I wonder how long it´ll take for him to realise that I´m in love with him.¨ Francis muttered to himself, biting his lip. 

Truth was, Francis actually didn´t care much for coffee. He only went to Starbucks because he knew Arthur worked there. Francis rarely got to see Arthur outside of school, and Arthur was a different person outside of the Academy´s boundaries. The Brit would actually  _ smile _ , but in school, this scowl stayed on his face. Francis loved it when Arthur smiled, -he did it so rarely, it was quite a sight to see when the Brit did- though he wished he was the reason behind the other´s smile. The Frenchman wished he could just ask Arthur out, but he never got up the courage. The two have known each other nearly their whole 17 years they´ve been alive. Francis had the sneaking suspicion that Arthur might like him back, but the Brit was too unpredicable. Like that moment in the doorway, Francis could have sworn he saw a bit of affection in Arthur´s eyes, but, just as quickly, Arthur pulled away.  Just when Francis thinks he´s broken through one of Arthur´s many walls, he collides into another one. But Arthur did call him ´love´...

¨Oi! You just gonna stand there in the doorway and catch a cold, or are you gonna come in and let me make your frou-frou drink?¨ The Brit´s Cockney shocked Francis out of his thoughts, and the Frenchman quickly stepped inside. 

Francis mentally sighed at the long, long line that separated him from his dear Brit. Arthur worked fast, bringing on the British charm. Francis found himself smiling again, watching Arthur work. Finally, there was only one more person ahead of Francis.

But this one customer was an asshole. 

¨Sir, we do not sell that here.¨ Francis heard the strain in Arthur´s voice.

¨Well then, yer just bloidy USELESS, aren´tya?¨ The customer snapped, blowing his brilliant red hair out of his green eyes. ¨´Erisouly, where´s the McChickens? The burgers?¨ The tall Scottish man pawed at the cookies on display, and it took everything in Arthur not to smack the man. 

The man in question was one of Arthur´s enemies, Allistar. He was a grade older than the Briton, and he bulled Arthur relentlessly in Freshman year. Though once Francis figured out what was happening, he reported Allistar to the school, and ever since then, the two didn´t cross each other´s path. But it wasn´t a secret that the two of them despised each other.

¨We do not sell those here. If you want those, you can go to the McDonald´s down the road.¨ The Brit spoke through his teeth, trying to keep his facial features pleasant.

¨Are ya turnin´ me away? Wow, yer ugly AND uncapable of helpin’ this ol´ customer. Maybe if you trimmed those bigass eyebrows of yers, you´d be able ter see that I am a customer, and I need ter be served ma food.¨ Allistar sneered, once again blowing his bangs out of his line of sight, only this time, spit sprayed across his face. 

Francis gasped. Everyone knows Arthur is sensitive of his eyebrows. 

Arthur´s eye twitched.  Francis caught Arthur´s eye, and winked, hoping to cheer the Brit up at least a little bit.  Arthur softened slightly, but of course Allistar had to open his mouth again.

¨You don´t like me, don´tya?¨ Allistar brilliantly observed.

Arthur made a big show of pretending to decide on that matter. ¨Well, I can´t say I´m particularly thrilled with the fact you are existing, and doing that whole breathing thing, so, no. ¨ Arrthur crossed his arms, but winked back at Francis.

Sadly, Allistar had caught that exchange. He smiled -if you could call it that, his big lips curling back to expose his nasty fanged teeth- and groped the cookies again.

¨Huh. Still a fag, then, Arthur? How disgusting.¨ 

Arthur froze. Francis gasped. Allistar smirked, knowing that was the one word that he could use to finally get under the Brit´s skin. 

Arthur hated that word. Hated it with every pore of his being. Not because he hated being gay, no, not at all. He hated that others used it as a derogatory. He hated that it became a hateful slur, as if being gay was something to be made fun of. 

Francis, however, was livid. He couldn’t believe somebody just called his love such a terrible word. Normally, he never stepped in; Francis never really had the guts to stand up for himself, let alone someone else. But he wasn´t about to let Arthur get bullied right in front of him. 

Arthur opened his mouth angrily, but Francis spoke first.

¨Yes, it´s awesome to be gay. So many cute boys, you know?¨ Francis laughed cheerfully, ¨Hey, you´re pretty cute~ And, actually, can I interest you in a nice, hot cup of coffee to warm your cold, dead heart? My treat~¨ The frenchman winked at Allistar, putting a hand on his back. 

Arthur was stunned.  _ Francis actually stood up for me? _

Allistar´s eyes went wide, his mouth making these horrible squeaks. He yanked away from Francis, as if the gay was contagious by contact. ¨Y-Yer disgustin´! Ugly, revolting fag! G-Git yer bloidy homo hands offa me!¨ 

¨He´s not ugly at all; he´s positively gorgeous.¨ A real smile crossed Arthur´s face, and Francis´s heart did sumersaults. Arthur leaned across the counter, and kissed Francis´s hand, and turned to Allistar. ¨Ooooh, you´d best leave; there is so much homo things going on here.¨ Arthur tsked, ¨Careful, we might be contagious!¨

Allistar gripped his cross and ran out of the building,  huffing profanities. 

Arthur and Francis laughed loudly, hands still intertwined. Francis glanced down at their hands, a sudden happiness filling his heart. 

He was holding hands with Arthur Kirkland. The boy of his dreams. 

Arthur bit his lip, and spoke quietly. 

¨Thanks for sticking up for me back there. If it weren´t for you, I probably would´ve yelled something stupid and lost my job.¨

Francis ran his thumb over Arthur´s knuckles soothingly, ¨It was no problem, I-¨

Suddenly, Arthur kissed Francis.

Francis was taken completely by surprise. He forgot how to think, how to breathe, just was completely dumbfounded. He hastily kissed back, not caring who saw them. 

Arthur pulled away first, blushing madly. An embarrassed but overjoyed smile graced his lips. 

¨So... wanna get coffee together?¨

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, yes, I know. But somebody had to be the asshole. It just happened to be Scotland. I'm very sorry. 
> 
> This fic was actually written for a writing class, so hopefully I didn't get too OOC. 
> 
> Komment or Kudos if you liked this, or have any AUs or plot suggestions!


	7. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \---Arthur and Francis decide to go to Alfred's party, and Alfred gets a little too touchy feely with Francis for Arthur's tastes. So the Brit kindly tells Alfred to fuck off. You can imagine how well that goes.

“Alfred, dear, you need to get your fucking hands off my boyfriend, and please do it before I chop off those hands, bake them at exactly 450 degrees, and eat them myself!” Arthur growled, stepping in between the confused Frenchman and the flirty American. 

And, with all eyes watching the trio, Francis gasped as Arthur chucked his wineglass forward, splashing Alfred with red wine. 

But let’s start at the beginning. 

“I don’t want to go,” Arthur grumbled, fiddling with his violet tie. “I look stupid.” He let out a sigh strong enough to blow over the Eiffel Tower. 

Francis chuckled at the frustrated Brit. “Love, I know parties aren’t really your thing. I’m sure you’d love to do your Sudokas and drink ten gallons of tea tonight, but sadly, that is not going to happen.”

“First of all, it’s ‘Sudoko”, dumbarse,” Arthur rolled his eyes at his lover’s poor English,  “Second of all, there is nothing wrong with drinking that much tea, it’s actually been proven by legit scientists that-”

“Oui, oui, oui, I know,” Francis interrupted before Arthur went on another rant about his precious tea, “But you have managed to think of every excuse in the world to not go with me to these parties for months now. People are going to think-”

“-And when have we ever cared what others thought?” The Brit raised his large eyebrows, “If we’re only going tonight to please other people, I’m definitely not going.”

“Arthur, that’s not what I-” the Frenchman tried, growing exasperated.

“I’m serious, I’ll break my bloody leg if I have to-”

“Angleterre, don’t be ridiculous-”

“Are you doubting me?!” 

“Non, I just think that’s a dumb fucking idea, breaking your--”

Arthur ran to the stairs of their apartment, teasingly stretching his leg over the steps.  “I will so do it.”

Francis screamed and swore in French, “Non! What are you doing, you idiot?! Get your cardboard ass over here, I swear to Dieu--”

Arthur tsked, “Mm. I _ really _ don’t want to go tonight, and I can’t seem to find  _ any  _ other way out of this.” 

Francis huffed and snatched up Arthur, carrying him bridal-style back to their cozy apartment. “You are officially an idiot. Congratulations.” His words dripped with sarcasm as he set Arthur back down on his feet.

“Oh, c’mon. What would your life be like without my random bouts of spontaneity?” Arthur grinned, kissing Francis on the cheek. 

“My life would probably be much easier.” Francis sassed back, and practically heard Arthur roll his eyes.

“Oh, shut up. What time do we have to be at this party again?” Arthur fixed his tie again, growing nervous.

“At 7 p.m. So we’ve got…” Francis peered at the silver clock on the golden wall, “About 20 minutes.”

“20 minutes?!” The Brit yelped, his nerves tangible. “Shit, mate, we’ve got to go! It takes us like, that long just to drive to Alfred’s house with your slow driving.”

“My driving is not that slow,” Francis retorted, half smiling.

“My grandmother can drive faster than you, and she’s dead.” Arthur fished the keys out of the cup near the door, “So hurry the hell up. We’re gone.” Arthur closed the door behind him.

Francis scoffed in offense.

Several minutes later, he was in Arthur’s car, a beautiful blue, roofless Audi. 

“The wind is going to mess up my hair!” Francis panicked, running a hand through his platinum locks. 

“Hm. What a shame.” Arthur absentmindedly replied, changing stations on the radio rapidly.  Francis grumbled something not complimentary under his breath before slamming the door. 

“Hey, careful with the car!” Arthur muttered, finally settling on a station that was playing some song about someone wondering what someone meant.

“Is this Justin Bieber?” Francis asked, his perfect eyebrows raised, “Didn’t know you were a fan.”

“Of course I’m bloody not. There’s nothing else on. Now, we’re off.” And with that, Arthur started driving, singing along to the radio while Francis bitched the whole way there about Arthur’s crappy music tastes.

Finally, the two lovers arrived at their American friend’s, Alfred, house. Darkness settled on the trees like onyx snow, with just a faint line of burnt orange to hint at a dying horizon. 

Alfred’s house was already booming with people, and loud music pulsated out of the trailer home. Arthur instantly recognized the music. 

“Is that Panic! At The Disco?” Arthur murmured, feeling at ease at the familiar lyrics. 

“Oui, and if they don’t turn it down, the neighbors are going to complain.” Francis advised, fixing his already perfect hair.

“One does not simply turn down Panic! At The Disco.” Arthur muttered, turning off the car, “Everyone knows that, you peasant.”

Francis chuckled and opened the door, “Well, c’mon; we’re late.”

“I blame you.”

“But of course, love.” The Frenchman shook his head in amusement as he strutted to the trailer.

Arthur looked panicked, “Wait! Don’t leave without me!” Arthur dashed out of the car, and held Francis’ hand like it was a life preserve and he was drowning. 

“Don’t be so nervous, cher. We’re not going to be here that long.” Francis smiled, kissing Arthur’s hand in an effort to soothe his lover’s nerves.

“Frenchie!” A loud, booming voice greeted. “How are ya, dude?” A tall, grinning man came into view.   

He was obviously American; a sports jersey clung to his defined muscles, Northern accent with a strange twist, and messy honey hair paired with sapphire eyes. 

Arthur cringed slightly, disliking his deafening voice. 

“Alfred! Bonjour, mon ami!” Francis greeted happily, doing something called a ‘fist bump’, as Arthur learned later, “I’m doing quite well! The party looks amazing!”

“Really? Thanks, man!”

Arthur noted that Alfred was one of those people where every sentence needed an exclamation mark. It was as if he felt a need to scream at all times.

Francis grinned, giving Arthur’s hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Well, come on in! Don’t let me keep you out here.” Alfred chuckled, tapping the Frenchman’s nose and waltzed back inside.

Arthur raised his eyebrows and demanded, “Why the hell did he touch you?”

“Mon amour, trust moi, it was nothing. Alfred is a very...how you say?” the Frenchman struggled to find the English cognate, “He just is a touchy person.”

“Well, he better keep his fucking hands to himself.” Arthur warned darkly. “Or else I’m gonna-”

“Oh, s’il vous plait, calm down. He means nothing by it.” Francis waved away Arthur’s concern and death sentence.

Jealousy started to bloom in Arthur, this wicked thing that no matter what Francis said, he couldn’t shake away that feeling. He began to envision possible ways to kill Alfred as the lovers walked through the doorway.

Inside, the place was indeed rocking, as Alfred stated. Neon lights swirled around the room like frenzied stars. Beanbags of every shade lay around, and around a semi large gaming centre. Loads of people were cheering on a bunch of people playing Madden. A couple people neither Francis nor Arthur knew were playing beer pong on one large table to the left, and others were scattered about the room, talking, laughing, flirting and drinking. Loud music of popular artists gave some courage for shy people to ask their crushes to dance. Arthur stepped to the side as a couple started running past, spraying each other with whipped cream. 

And everyone was having fun except Arthur. 

The night passed by in a blur for the increasingly irritated Brit, and he found he could relate to a ghost. Well, mostly. All Arthur could do was follow Francis around; Arthur wasn’t very good at the whole social, talking-to-people thing. He had a bit of social anxiety, part of why he never attended Francis’ parties. He felt painfully visible, yet entirely ignored. 

Arthur held the same plastic cup and same plastic smile for hours now. All the while, he watched Alfred flirt with his Francis, smile at his Francis, and touch his Francis. Arthur despised Alfred, watching him laugh and socialize easily with friends. 

_ It’s not that Alfred was that bad a guy,  _ Arthur thought,  _ but I hate him. I hate him and his stupid, friendly smile. I hate him and his damn charisma. I hate him and how nice he is. I hate him because he keeps “casually” touching my man! _

The Brit glared at them, and his hands trembled in fury as Alfred, for the 52nd time, -yes, Arthur counted- ran his fingers along Francis’ hand. Francis’ azure eyes flicked up to Alfred’s in question, smoothly taking his hand away.

Arthur had had enough.

He had watched as Alfred “accidentally” grazed his hand along Francis’ cheek; he had watched as Alfred “accidentally” nudged Francis’ foot; Arthur had watched as Alfred had “accidentally” tripped and landed in Francis’ arms.  Arthur was tired of being ignored, tired of Alfred, tired of someone else touching his lover.

Arthur stormed up to Alfred.

“Alfred, dear, you need to get your fucking hands off my boyfriend, and please do it before I chop off those hands, bake them at exactly 450 degrees, and eat them myself!” Arthur growled, stepping in between the confused Frenchman and the flirty American. 

“What in the world are you talking about?” Alfred asked innocently, while Arthur imagined setting the American on fire. 

“I’m talking about you running your filthy hands all over my boyfriend all night!”

“Boyfriend?” Alfred gaped, raising his eyebrows at Francis, “Wow. Didn’t know you settled for less.”

Arthur snapped.

His hand, holding the plastic cup, shot upwards. Bright red wine splashed the rude American, soaking him. Crimson liquid streamed down his face, rolling like tears down his face and chest. Alfred sputtered, eyes wide. It seemed all eyes were on the three of them. 

Arthur, however, was shocked when Francis slapped Alfred. It was a nice, clean  _ CRACK _ ! that echoed around the room.

“How dare you insult Arthur like that, and in front of me?!” Francis hissed, “I hardly settled for less. He’s a thousand times the man you are. Didn’t they teach you in Kindergarten to keep your hands to yourself?” 

Alfred couldn’t even speak; he was so humiliated. 

Francis then turned, and kissed Arthur right there, with a thousand pairs of eyes watching them. Arthur responded enthusiastically, his lips crashing against the Frenchman’s. Catcalls and yells of encouragement exploded from their audience. 

Francis pulled away, and whispered in the Brit’s ear, “C’mon, let’s go home.”

Arthur flashed a shit-eating grin at Alfred, and walked away, one hand clasping Francis’, the other with a middle finger raised. 

“We pulled quite a show,” Francis laughed when they were in Arthur’s blue Audi. “Though I do apologise for not speaking up and putting Alfred in his place earlier.”

Arthur nodded, and kissed Francis’ hand. 

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you are mine, and no one else’s.” 

“A little possessive, aren’t you?” Francis chuckled.

But both of them wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is a territorial little shit lmao. 
> 
> Komment or Kudos if you like this! Komments are welcome!


	8. Happy Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \---In which, Arthur manages to fuck up everything on the most romantic day of the year. Francis tries to comfort him.

“ It was an accident!” Arthur shouted, flinging the bouquet of roses against the wall. Francis winced and ducked out of the way of the flying flowers.  

“Mon amour, it’s alright, really-” Francis tried, reaching out to his love.

“No, it’s bloody NOT alright!” Arthur snapped, stomping away from Francis’s embrace, “I fucked up EVERYTHING! I meant to lean over and grab more wine, but I ended up spilling the whole damn  BOTTLE on you! It was supposed to be a nice, bloody lovely, ROMANTIC evening between us blokes, and I messed up yet again!” Arthur let out a cry similar to a whale giving birth before falling down onto the couch. 

The Brit sniffled angrily and covered his face. “I got red wine all over your white shirt. Your FAVOURITE shirt, no less! Bloody hell, why are you married to me again?!” 

Francis smiled sympathetically, then quickly took off his stained button-up. He adjusted the straps on his black tank top and kissed Arthur’s hand. 

“Mon beau cher, everything is alright. You didn’t mess up our night together, see?” The grinning Frenchman nodded to the clock on the right wall. “It’s only 9:00 p.m. We’ve still got plenty of night still left to us. Oui, I may not be able to fix the shirt, but who cares?” He hugged his teary husband, kissing away his tears. “It’s just a shirt, dear. I can get plenty more.” 

Arthur grumbled profanities under his breath but nodded, the embarrassment glow slowly fading from his cheeks.  “I just wanted to be the romantic one for once,” He confessed, biting his lip, “I feel bad that you always do such nice things for me; making me breakfast in bed, giving me flowers every day, always making me smile, all that lovey-dovey stuff that you do so effortlessly. I never really know how to do the same for you. I just want you to feel the same happiness I feel when you do those lovely things for me.” Arthur groaned and shook his head, as if his mind was an Etch-A-Sketch and he could shake away the images of the embarassing incident.

Francis blushed, flattered, “Cher, before you spilled the wine, it was lovely!” An earnest smile graced his lips, “Honestly, it was! You were so dapper, love! You had on his nice suit, “ Francis ran his fingers along the smooth fabric of Arthur’s violet suit, “And you greeted me with a  _ very  _  nice hello.” The Frenchman wiggled his eyebrows suggestively while Arthur laughed, unashamed. 

“I also gave you a huge bouquet of roses…” A pout crossed the Brit’s lips as he glanced at the same roses strewn all over the plush carpet. “Well, it  _ was  _  nice.”

Francis chuckled breathlessly, giving Arthur a big smooch. “You are nice. Thank you, love, for this incredibly romantic night!” He singsonged, and finally got a smile out of the grumpy Brit.

“No problem, Francis. I’ll buy you a new shirt tomorrow.” Arthur grinned, and winked slyly, “Now, since I spilled wine all over you, I do wonder if you taste like wine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Komment or Kudos if you liked this!


	9. Think Before You Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coldplay's "Fix You" was the villain behind this.

"How many times have I died for you?!" Arthur whispered, heart broken. "And you _still_ doubt me...?"

Francis merely stared at the tear-stained Briton, his own heart growing numb by the sight of his old lover breaking into pieces. 

"I can't risk it, " Francis murmured, "I can't risk everything I am. I know the real answer this time."

"Why?!" Arthur sobbed, covering his mouth.

"Because what if it doesn't work? Then that means I lose it all." The Frenchman broke away from Arthur's secure arms, turning his back. 

Arthur grabbed a hold of Francis's coat, unwilling to let something so dear to him go.

"But what if it does?..." The blonde pleaded, "Francis, you are here to risk your heart. That is life.  Where would you be if you didn't take a chance?"

Francis turned around, emerald forests meeting  navy oceans. The sea meeting the forest fir one last kiss.

He smiled sadly.

"I would have a hell of a lot less tears, that's for sure. Arthur, listen to yourself. All these "what if's" will get you nowhere except regrets of what could have been done. They will haunt you forever. Let it go. Mon cher, what you are not understanding is that, yes, we are here to risk and gamble our hearts, " Francis laughed bitterly, "But some lose it all.  Not just their heart. Their pride. Their hope. Their innocence. And sometimes..."

"Their life. I can't afford to do this again. I can't lose anymore than i've already lost. You must understand...I've already given you chance after chance, yet every single damn time, you break my heart all over again! I can't live like that, Arthur. Always wondering if you're telling the truth. Always wondering if I'm the only arms you've been in this week."

"No! I can't let you go! " The Brit sobbed, tears blurring his vision. "What am i without you? What are we without each other? Can't you give me another chance?"

That stopped Francis dead in his tracks. 

"If you and I were made of glass," he began quietly, "We would never last."

"What?"  

Francis resumed walking away, but answered Arthur's question.

"It means that you should have thought of this before you slept with Alfred."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live to break hearts, what can I say? Komment or Kudos if you've got any AU ideas or suggestions! @1adydebonair is my Tumblr, feel free to stop by!


	10. Boytoy Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plain White T's: "The Giving Tree"

_I lie in the dead of night and I wonder who's covers you're between_

 

"You're leaving again, aren't you?" Francis murmured, running his hand along Arthur's chest. The two of them lay there, under a nest of blankets and darkness to fill the void. Arthur was breathing softly, and Francis in his arms. There was a certain silence that begged not to be breached, but Francis couldn't stand the elephant in the room any longer. 

"You know I have to." Arthur replied somberly, and he heard Francis exhale sharply. 

"Then why did you come here in the first place, spend the night with me, only to leave now?!" Francis whispered, "Why did you play with my feelings like this?"

"Francis..."

"No, don't 'Francis' me! You know, sometimes you can be so mean."

Arthur huffed, but he felt guilty. He knew he had to leave. Why, indeed, did he come to Francis anyway? Playing with the Frenchman's heart was a cruel game, yet he couldn't stop playing.

 

_And it's sad laying in his bed, you feel hollow, so you crawl home back to me_

 

"Choose." Francis snapped. "Me or Alfred. I'm not going to wait for you to make a decision months down the road. If you love me, you'll stay."

"What?!" Arthur gasped, "You want me to make a decision between my boyfriend or you?!"

"Arthur, dear, if he were truly your boyfriend, the only one you cared about, you wouldn't be sitting in this bed with me. But I won't be someone you randomly shack up with any time you're bored with your boyfriend. That's not fair to me or him."

Arthur stiffened. He knew what Francis was saying was true.  Arthur did indeed love Alfred, but he also loved Francis, both for different reasons. 

"But...Not that this is your fault, but if you knew this, then why didn't you push me away? Or tell Alfred?"

Francis sighed heavily, his voice soft again. "I guess I didn't push you away in the hopes that you'd break up with him and be with me instead. I just wished you'd choose me instead of him. I love you, but what we're doing has to stop.You can't spend the night with me and spend the day with him. I can't do it anymore. Choose."

Arthur blinked back tears. He knew this was coming. 

"Fine." Was all he said. He broke away from Francis, who let out a choked sound.

"Is...that really true? Arthur, if you loved him so much, then why did you come to me?!" Francis sobbed.

 

_If all you wanted was love, why did you use me up, build a  boat, and sail away?_

_When all I wanted to be was your giving tree, settle down, build a home, and make you happy._

 

"I'm sorry." Arthur slowly put on his shirt, eyes threatening to release, he swiped at them furiously.

 

_Well, I see a trail that starts, a line of broken hearts behind you that lead you back to me_

_The once sad and lonely fool with nothing left but roots to show..._

 

A long pause ensued while the Brit snatched his clothes on.

"Fine." Francis said, voice like ice. "But if you say goodbye, leave and never come back. If you're going to go, stay gone."

Arthur took one last look at him, and walked away.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh yes, this song in particular. Hope you enjoyed the mini updates, I hope to crank out more and end this long, long haitus on this work.   
> Komment or kudos are greatly appreciated!!!


	11. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me if the French is wrong, I did use Google Translate. I know, I know. Shame on me. 
> 
> \--In Which Arthur moves to a new neighborhood, and decides to explore. However, he gets lost on the way there. But then someone special comes in to save the day.--

_ “Bloody hell.” Arthur scowled, his lip piercings bowing with his gesture. “Didn’t I pass that bird feeder already?”  _

_ The blond, British teen was trying to get to his new home, but his family had only just moved in a few days ago. Arthur had told his mum that he was going to go explore the neighborhood, and would be back before dusk. Obviously, the boy wasn’t as familiar with the neighborhood as he had thought, because now it was nearly dusk, and he had to admit defeat now.  _

_ Arthur Kirkland was lost.  _

_ “Ugh, this fucking sucks.” He swore incessantly the whole time he trudged over to said bird feeder. “This really kills the whole ‘ oh mum, imma explore the whole damn town’ vibe I was having. Because look where I am now.” Arthur huffed. “I’m in Bumblefuck. I-” _

_ An ache suddenly welled up in Arthur’s throat. He swallowed, trying to push it back down. No, there was no way he was going to cry over this. He was almost sixteen, for the Queen’s sake! Sixteen-year-olds didn’t cry over getting lost.  _

_ “Just take a deep breath,” He told himself, pushing back his bangs and adjusting his black beanie, “Just fuckin’ breathe. I’ll find a way back.” _

_ “Right. I’ve got to retrace my footsteps, yeah?” The blonde laughed, trying to psych himself up. “That’s it. That’s the ticket. No American suburbia is a match for me, the great Arthur Kirkland!”  _

_ With that being said, he set off in the complete opposite direction of where he came.  _

_ He went to the left of the bird feeder, swinging around it once out of whim.  _

_ “Now I just keep going straight, I think. Straight on!” The boy ran off, dusk settling on the trees like noir snow. The sun ducked down beneath the treeline, yawning away it’s once bright light.  _

_ Arthur didn’t notice, he was too busy rambling to himself to try and keep the fear away.  _

_ “I’ve just got to keep right on this way. That’s all. Then I’ll be home, probably in time to watch Sherlock. Though I’ll get a mighty fine scolding from me mum since I was out so, um...late.” His voice drew small near the end when he noticed that he couldn’t really see the ground anymore. Arthur looked up at the stars, pure fear setting in.  _

_ “Oh no.” Arthur panicked, now truly ready to cry. He never liked the dark, especially when it concerned neighborhoods he’d never been to and trails he’d never walked before. This was a new kind of fear. _

_ Mind spinning with monsters and ghosts lingering in the trees, Arthur blindly felt his way to something hard. What was it? He patted the space, and it seem to be some kind of seat.  _

_ “I’m in a park?” Arthur murmured, sniffling. He stiffened at a buzzing sound. “Oh, what the fuck is this now?” He was almost exasperated with it all. If he were going to die out here in this godforsaken park, then he’d rather have it done already.  _

_ Instead of his wishes of death being granted, mini lanterns lit up along a stone pathway. It gave some light around the park, and made everything a little less scary.  _

_ “Oh,” Arthur breathed, tears falling. “That’s a...little better.” He supposed those lights were the ones that turned on after dark, and he appreciated it.  _

_ But he wanted to be at home, in his bed. Hell, he’d rather take being scolded by his mum than be out here, in a place he didn’t know.  _

_ “Fuck. I’m so fucked!” Arthur bit his lip, biting the snakebite piercing in the process. He cried, though he tried to be quiet about it. Arthur hated to cry, he saw it as weak. But combine fear with his crazy teenage hormones, there wasn’t much control over his raw emotions.  _

_ “Are  you okay, cher?” _

_ Arthur screamed, falling out of his seat and onto the cobble pathway.  _

_ “W-Who the fuck is there?! I-I’m warning you, I’m armed!” Clearly a lie, but what else was he going to tell the stranger? Nice to meet you, I’m lost and completely helpless? _

_ Yeah, that’d go over well.  _

_ The voice chuckled kindly, then stepped into the dim light.  _

_ It was his eyes that Arthur saw first.  _

_ They were like the ocean, shimmering as if he had just heard the funniest joke. He was a blonde like Arthur was, only with more platinum in his golden hair than Arthur did. Barely a hint of stubble was on his chin, more so a shadow of what might come to be. But this boy was lanky, tall and thin and still not entirely out of it’s awkward phase. Yet, the male carried himself with a confidence that Arthur could only describe as sexy.  _

_ “W-Who are you?” Arthur demanded in a shaky, I’ve-been-crying voice.  _

_ “I’m Francis Bonnefoy, enchante!” Francis introduced grandly, his acccent marring his words.  _

_ “What the bloody...you’re French?! Ew.” Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms. Great. A Frenchman.  _

_ “Hey, that’s not very nice!” Then he actually pouted. “Monsieur Punk, why were you crying?” _

_ “Did you just call me a punk?” Arthur grit his teeth. “Listen here, you frog-” _

_ “Gah, how dare you call me a frog! La, la, la, I cannot ‘ear you!” Francis put his hands over his ears, being annoying, in Arthur’s opinion. “I shall not answer to you unless you call me by my name, Angleterre.” _

_ Arthur stopped in his ranting to wonder what the hell ‘angleterre’ meant.  _

_ “What...did you just fucking call me, Frenchie?” The Brit was in no mood for games.  _

_ “I called you Angleterre.” He smirked, leaning against the metal bench. “Quoi,  _ _ Tu ne parle pas français?” _

_ All this bullshit was making Arthur’s head hurt. He realised he was going to have to play nice if he wanted help from this...Frenchman.  _

_ He sighed, frustrated. “Okay, look, French fry--” _

_ “Francis.” Francis insisted. _

_ Arthur’s eye twitched in annoyance.  _

_ “Okay, whatever. I--” _

_ “You’re lost.” Francis smiled kindly this time. “I know. I can tell because I’ve seen you wandering out here for at least an hour.” _

_ Arthur gasped. “T-Then, why didn’t you help me?” _

_ Francis shrugged. “I thought you went home once it got dark because I couldn’t see you anymore. But then, I heard you crying, so now I think, ‘Aww, zhe ange needs some help!’ and so, here I am!” _

_ Arthur only stared. He didn’t know what an ange was, but it wasn’t said maliciously. Maybe this man -however French- could really help him.  _

_ “Could you...take me home?” He muttered shyly, looking away.  _

_ “Oui, I can!” Francis grinned, and Arthur looked up at him from his place on the ground. “Oh, and by the way? Your eyeliner ran when you cried.” _

_ He offered his hand to Arthur. _

_ Arthur arched an eyebrow, then hesitantly took the other’s hand.  _

_ “Francis, do me a favour and shut the hell up.” _

_ The Frenchman laughed, still hanging onto the other’s hand as he led the two of them out of the park.  _

_ Arthur didn’t pull away.  _

“I think you held onto my hand the entire night, too.” Francis reminisced. 

“Ha. I did not.” Arthur dismissed, knowing full well that he did. “Are you going to finish the story or not?”

“You remember it as well as I do. Why don’t you finish it?”

“Fine, fine. Anyway, so we were walking…”

_ “How long have you lived here, Frog?” Arthur asked, blushing slightly from the warmth of Francis’ hand. My, was it that cold already? _

_ “About a year, my family, we, ah…” He struggled for the English word. “Move? Travel around a lot, oui. So we never stay in one place for too long.” _

_ “Oh.” Arthur hated to admit it, but he felt sad for finally meeting a friend only to have him gone so soon. “So, you’ll be going then?” _

_ “Maybe. Maybe I’ll stay, stick around to see what happens to my petite Angleterre.” Francis grinned. God, when this boy smiles… _

_ Arthur felt butterflies kicking in his stomach. He scoffed again, rolling his eyes. “That doesn’t work on me.”  _

_ “What doesn’t work on you?” _

_ “Romance. Doesn’t affect me at all.” _

“It does affect you. All the time.” Francis laughed, cutting into Arthur’s story. “You love romance, you just aren’t particularly romantic yourself.”

“Hey, Frog, do me a favour and shut the hell up.” Arthur smoothly threw back. “Let me finish our memory.”

_ Francis just stared at Arthur, a peculiar smile on his face. Determination shone in his eyes. “Hm. Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.” _

_ “Pfft. You can try, but it won’t work.” The Brit denied, having to jog a bit to catch up with Francis. Still, their hands were enterwined, neither one willing to be the first to let go. It may have been strange if it were any other person, but Arthur felt different with Francis from the start. There was a comfortability with  him, despite only just meeting. The easy back-and-forth they were able to share...Arthur missed that from his old school with his friends. He wondered… _

_ “Do you go to World Highschool?” Arthur inquired.  _

_ “Oui, do you?” Francis seem thrilled about this news. He stopped just in front of a house with yellow trim.  _

_ “I start on Monday.” The Brit replied softly. This was it, this was his house. But he didn’t want to leave Francis, for whatever reason. The guy irritated and made him smile. God, how confusing. _

_ “Then I’ll see you then, cher.”Francis leaned in, and at first Arthur thought about backing away, but the thought left his mind once Francis kissed his cheek.  _

_ Francis pulled away.  _

_ “à la prochaine, Angleterre.” He said happily, waving goodbye as he ran back to his house.  _

_ Shocked, Arthur put a hand up to his cheek. Sure, he was rather friendly with the Frenchie, but he didn’t expect Francis to kiss him!  _

_ He walked up to the doorway, and knocked.  _

“In France, it’s common to kiss people on the cheek in saying goodbye or hello.” Francis explained before Arthur could ask. He took a sip of wine.

“That wasn’t going to be my question, but good try,” Arthur grinned slyly, “My question is, how did you know how to find my house?”

“Easily, cher,” Francis peered over the photo album they were looking at.  “I had gotten off the bus as soon as you walked out of your house, and I noticed you because of those goddamn eyebrows.”

“Hey! Leave my eyebrows out of this equation!” Arthur scowled, crossing his arms. “You know, you are so cute, but then you open your damn mouth, and then you-”

“D’accord, d’accord, I’m sorry.” Francis spoke over Arthur in order to make amends. He sighed, then took Arthur’s hand. “I’m happy we’re married.”

Arthur smiled, fight forgotten. “I’m ecstatic. Highschool sweethearts, huh? Sometimes, I never thought we’d make it this far. But I’m happy we did,” He added. “I can’t believe we’re almost thirty now. Where has the time gone?! You were so adorable when you were sixteen. Even when you got braces, I still thought you were the hottest thing to walk the earth.”

“Oh mon dieu, the braces!” Francis moaned, putting a hand to his head dramatically. “I honestly tried to forget that period of time in my life.”

“You didn’t look that bad. Just sorta like a spaceship crashed in your mouth.” Arthur smirked at Francis’ indignant huff. He leaned over, kissing the Frenchman. “Idiot. I’ll love you no matter what.” He murmured. 

Francis chuckled, “Je’taime aussi, Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kimika6761 thought up this AU, thank you very much!! Please feel free to Komment some AU ideas or suggestions down below! Or go to Tumblr and ask some questions or AU ideas: @1adydebonair

**Author's Note:**

> Komment if you have any AU ideas, critques, or general things you liked about these one shots! Kudos if you liked this work! Thanks!


End file.
